Last night I had a dream that I met the children in the photos. They were nothing like their pictures.

I've been dreaming about snow. And snow swirls, the way the wind whips it around into a cloud. Then his voice in a message tells me to mind the snow.

It is a pile of snow, soft and light at first, but turning heavy and wet. It covers me. It covers me again.

By the end of the dream I can see my eyes. Not my mouth, but my eyes.

The snow is light. The snow is heavy. The snow is nothing.

The snow is not as I dreamt it.